grey matter
by Little Faith
Summary: Oz returns to Sunnydale to help Willow.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE  
"Be sure to leave a number where I can reach you. I'll keep you posted on the situation."  
  
"I'll call you in a few days."  
  
"Call late."  
  
Oz nodded, and there was a brief silence.  
  
"I'll do everything I can for her," Giles assured him.   
  
"Take care."  
  
Giles nodded then and, after a moment's hesitation, he embraced the younger man. "You too."  
  
*~*  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello," Giles paused slightly. "Daniel, how are you?"  
  
"I'm good. And she.…"  
  
"Left earlier today. She's a different person now." He didn't know how much to tell Oz. "I think she'll be all right."  
  
"You wouldn't have sent her back to Sunnydale if you didn't."  
  
Giles didn't respond to that, instead, he changed the subject. "When are you coming ho—back here?"  
  
Oz's eyes narrowed as he frowned and Giles heard something wrong in his voice when he replied. "I'll leave tonight."  
  
"I'll see you soon then."  
  
Two goodbyes later, with both phones back in their respective cradles, Oz began to pack his few belongings.  
  
Giles put a kettle of water on the stove and rubbed his temples absently. He'd switched up mid-word and Oz, ever perceptive, would now be wondering about the same thing Giles had on his mind. Why hadn't he asked when Oz was coming home?  
  
After leaving the 'dale for a second time, Oz had wandered long and far. Eventually, he'd come to England. He met up with a few of the members of a local coven and when Giles returned to his home, he'd found Oz, waiting. With the help of the Coven, Giles began to guide Oz in more ways to control the wolf. Oz had also begun to learn a bit of magic.  
  
He and Giles were sharing a house in Westbury and had been since the second time Giles left Sunnydale. Oz was making good progress not in controlling, but in accepting his lycanthropy. Word had come that Willow had gone over the edge and Oz had put a few things in a backpack and taken Giles's motorcycle to London. He'd stayed there while Willow was with Giles. As he rode back to the house in Westbury, he thought about what Giles hadn't said on the phone.  
  
Giles heard the motorcycle outside as he was finishing his coffee and went to the door. He waited a moment to allow Oz to reach the step before opening the door.   
  
With his backpack slung over one shoulder, his helmet tucked under his arm, wearing faded jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, Oz looked tired and careworn.  
  
"Welcome home," Giles said softly.  
  
Oz stepped inside. Willow's scent lingered in the house, cinnamon and sandalwood and salt. The house also smelled like tea leaves and sage and Giles's aftershave. Oz swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat.   
  
"Thanks," he said. "It's good to be home."  
  
They sat down at the kitchen table and talked for a long time before going each to his own bed.  
  
Morning came and Giles left for a meeting with the Watcher's council. Oz found himself wandering the empty rooms of the old house, feeling Willow's presence and, more keenly, her absence. He plucked a strand of long red hair off one of the chairs in the study and had to retreat to his room. Picking out random notes on his guitar, Oz tried to write a song and when the phone rang, he let the machine get it. 


	2. Chapter 1

Part 1  
  
"Giles, I can't do this," Willow sobbed, her voice cracking. "It's too hard. I can't control it, I can't. The power…it's so much bigger and stronger than I am. The magic feels so natural. It's like breathing. I can't stop breathing. Giles, it'd be so much easier to give in. I need help. I need more help. I'm not ready to be back here. I'm not ready to do this, not all alone. Please, please tell me you're on your way." She cried, whimpering into the phone for a moment. "Can you just, at least, call me when you get this message?"  
  
Giles nodded and glanced at the half-open door across the hall. He frowned and knocked gently on the doorframe. Oz looked up from a stack of folded clothes on his bed.  
  
"It's time."  
  
Giles's frown deepened. "Do you really think you're ready?"  
  
"Doesn't matter," Oz replied. "It's time. Do you really think she was ready?"  
  
"The coven and I have done as much as we can," Giles objected.  
  
"I need to help her."  
  
"Which," Giles guessed, "is why you're packing."  
  
"I'm going back. Again."  
  
*~*  
  
Devon shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look cool. The security guard scrutinized him and Devon glowered, resisting the urge to flick him off. The rock star slouched against a pillar, straightening when he saw Oz. A head of familiar, fire engine red spikes bobbed along, chest high to the nearest passenger. Devon grinned, taking his hands out of his pockets and standing up.   
  
"Oz!" He called out.  
  
"Dev," Oz replied.  
  
Devon hesitated for a moment then hugged and quickly released Oz. "You back to stay this time, Little Bitch?"   
  
"One can only hope," Oz said. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders.  
  
Devon started telling Oz about the great girl he'd met, while they waited at the baggage claim. Once Oz had his duffel bag and his guitar, they went to the parking garage. Oz was oddly glad to see his old van again. They drove back to the Dingoes' lair, and Devon never quit talking.  
  
*~*  
  
Willow looked at the clock. She didn't have a class on Thursdays, so she was home alone. Buffy and Xander were at work, Dawn was in class. Spike was insane and Tara was dead, buried deep in the cold, hard ground. Tears flooded Willow's eyes. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow and sobbed freely. She cried as hard as she could for as long as she could.  
  
When Willow propped herself up on her elbows, her face was flushed, drenched with tears. Her hair was plastered to her blotchy cheeks. She crawled out of bed and wandered to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she looked up into the mirror. She patted her cheeks dry, wiped her puffy, reddened eyes with the back of her hand and combed her hair away from her face with her fingers. Willow sighed at her reflection, looking and feeling wretched, then went downstairs to find something to eat.  
  
When the doorbell rang, Willow started. The paranoia was instantaneous. Who could be at the door? Willow imagined a hundred horrors in the few moments it took for her to reach the door. She had a spell in mind and she left the chain in place. Her imagination hadn't prepared her for the sight that greeted Willow when she opened the door. She fumbled with the chain for a moment, the spell forgotten. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, she stepped aside to allow Oz to enter.  
  
"Hello," he said calmly.  
  
"Hi," Willow squeaked.   
  
"How are you?"  
  
"I…" Her mind went blank. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Can we sit?" Oz asked, gesturing to the couch. Willow nodded mutely, closing the door. She sat at the opposite end of the sofa from Oz. "I'd been staying in England, with Giles," Oz explained. "Learning more about the wolf. I heard about what happened. And I heard the message you left for Giles," he admitted.  
  
"Oh." Willow frowned. "So…you're here…?"  
  
"To help you. Or to try." Oz looked down at his hands for a moment, then glanced up at Willow. "If that's okay."  
  
"Help?" Willow repeated.  
  
"I've learned a little about power versus control…"  
  
Willow nodded. "Right," she said softly. "How's that going?"  
  
Oz shrugged. "Better. But this is about you. How are you?"  
  
"I've been better," Willow confessed. She felt her tears begin to well up again. "I'm scared…weak."  
  
"You aren't weak, Willow. You might feel it, but I know better. You've already done the hardest part, Will, you stopped. When Xander spoke to you, you were strong enough to listen."  
  
"But the power I felt," she objected. "It was so dark. And it's hard to fight. I'm really only doing this because I know that if I lose control again, I could lose myself to it completely. Do you have any idea how scary that is?"  
  
Oz was silent for a moment, until Willow realized what she had asked. "It's part of you now. You can't get rid of that power," Oz said firmly. "You have to control it, because it will be with you until the day you die. It's scary but there's not much of a choice, Willow. Control it or be controlled by it."  
  
"I don't want to be controlled by it," Willow replied. "But I killed a man. Not because of the power…because I was angry. I chose to do that."  
  
"You can't change what you've done. You just… You can't wash the blood from your hands, but you can learn from what you did. The power to end someone's life is less compelling than the guilt that comes from knowing just how sacred and fragile life is."  
  
"I didn't ever think how hard this would be."  
  
Oz nodded sympathetically.  
  
Willow sighed. "How do you do it?"  
  
"I've been to Tibet and back, there aren't any shortcuts."  
  
"I know," Willow interjected. "I know. Using magic as a shortcut was what started this whole thing. Trying to make everything easy. But…you've always been so calm, so cool…about everything. You made it look so easy, being in control of the wolf."  
  
"You've never seen me successfully control it," Oz pointed out. "Under the worst of circumstances, I don't know if I could. Sometimes I don't think I can under normal circumstances. What you're dealing with is a lot more powerful than the beast. You're stronger than I've ever been."  
  
"Maybe…maybe we can help each other," Willow offered.  
  
"That's why I'm here."  
  
*~*  
  
Willow and Oz meditated together daily, he taught her some of the techniques he had learned in Tibet. She continually pushed for more information; if nothing else, it was a good distraction. Being with Oz made it easier to push away the pain she still felt over Tara's death. The more she pushed, the more he seemed to back away. Despite herself, Willow felt a strange tug, a longing to connect with Oz, the way they had once long ago. He began cutting their sessions short more and more often.  
  
"What? No more wisdom to impart today?" she teased.  
  
"If you try to learn to much too quickly, your head will hurt," Oz replied.  
  
"Gee, that's very profound," Willow stated. "I'll try to remember that."  
  
"Do or do not, there is no try," Oz retorted.  
  
Willow couldn't help but giggle. "See you later, Yoda." That sparked an idea. Willow smiled to herself as Oz left.  
  
*~*  
  
Oz was hunched over a picnic table in the park. He scribbled in a notebook, his mind filled with notes and chords and lyrics. Oz was so enrapt in the process of songwriting, he didn't notice Willow approaching.  
  
"Hey," the red-haired girl said, sitting next to him.  
  
Oz looked up and closed his notebook. "Hey."  
  
"Here," Willow said, pressing a newspaper wrapped package into his hand.  
  
"What's this?" Oz inquired.  
  
"It's a present, silly, just open it."  
  
Oz accepted that, pulling away the paper. "It's a Yoda Pez dispenser," he observed.  
  
"They, well, they still don't make a werewolf Pez. But I thought since you've been all mentor like with the 'use the force' and remember the other day when I called you Yoda 'cause you were quoting him? You hate it."  
  
"No, it's perfect. He's short and green and speaks in non-sequitors."  
  
"No. You know, he's really important to Luke. I mean, where would Luke be without Yoda?"  
  
Oz smiled almost imperceptibly. "Thanks."  
  
"I wanted you to know how glad I am that we're friends. You've helped me so much, not just with the meditation stuff – though, that's great – but with being here."  
  
"I don't have anywhere else I need to be." 


	3. Chapter 2

Part 2  
  
The television glowed silently, ignored, the word mute displayed in small red letters in one corner of the screen. Willow stared at Oz incredulously.  
  
"I can't believe Devon said that."  
  
"Everything Dev says or does is unbelievable. It's part of his rock god image."  
  
"You know, I still think of the god of rocks every time I hear that." Willow smiled at Oz and was delighted when he smiled back. "Hey, Oz?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Willow leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Oz froze for a moment, then propelled himself away from her with such impetus that he slipped off the couch, landing on the floor. Willow winced.  
  
"Sorry," she exclaimed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."  
  
"I just don't think—" Oz began.  
  
"I was out of line. I'm so…"  
  
"Stop," Oz said firmly. "You're fine. Really. It's nothing personal. I'm not upset," he continued, looking up at her from the floor. "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to become involved romantically."  
  
"Right," Willow agreed, much too hastily. "I couldn't agree more."  
  
"I care about you, Willow. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, but our relationship has always been somewhat self-deceptive. That isn't the best thing for either of us."  
  
"Self-deceptive?" Willow echoed, hurt.  
  
"I'm sorry," Oz said genuinely. "I can't stay. The Dingoes…we have a gig tonight in LA. You should come. We can talk afterwards."  
  
"I'll be there," Willow promised without enthusiasm. She watched sadly as Oz picked himself up off the floor.  
  
"Will…it's okay," Oz assured her. "I'll see you tonight. We'll talk. It'll work out." As he left, Willow had a sense that he was trying not to hurry.  
  
*~*  
  
"Man," Devon greeted Oz as he entered. "You are late."  
  
"Sorry," Oz muttered, hurriedly taking his guitar out of the case and beginning to tune it.  
  
Devon frowned at him. He wasn't great at reading emotions, particularly Oz's emotions, but he had the feeling that something was bugging his buddy. "What's up?"  
  
Oz drew in a deep breath, a tremor racing through his chest. "Willow."  
  
"I thought you guys were friends?" Pete said.  
  
"She kissed me."  
  
"That's…I would've said that was good but you don't seem to be happy," Jimmy remarked.  
  
"I thought she and I could be friends. I thought that was the best thing and it was what I wanted. Now I don't know what I want."  
  
"You want her," Devon teased.   
  
Oz shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
*~*  
  
"Willow? Willow Rosenberg?"  
  
Willow turned in response to the sound of her name and was confronted by the sight of a slim, beautifully dark-eyed young man. She furrowed her brow for a moment at his familiarity and his face fell a little.  
  
"You don't remember me," he observed. "We went to Sunnydale High together. It's all right, I'm…"  
  
"Michael!" Willow exclaimed, her memory triggered by the sound of his voice. "It is Michael, isn't it? You were friends with Amy…"  
  
"Before she turned herself into a rat. You do remember." He smiled warmly at her. Michael glanced at the stage. "Are you and Oz still together?"  
  
"No," Willow said quickly. "No. We haven't been together for a long time. We're just friends now." She stole a furtive, guilty glance at the guitarist. "What about you, Michael? Are you seeing anyone?"  
  
"No, not right now. I actually just got out of a pretty serious long term thing. It, uh, it ended pretty badly but I'm all right."  
  
"Oh," Willow said lamely. "Well, I'm sorry it ended badly but it's good that you're okay. I had a relationship too…"  
  
"Not Oz?"  
  
"No…Tara. It was sort of on-again-off-again for a while. Just when I thought we were on again for good…there was an incident. She was killed." The words felt so strange, foreign and vaguely hollow as she spoke them.  
  
"Oh," Michael stammered. "Wow. I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I mean, I know that's a stupid question but…are you okay?"  
  
Willow nodded. "I really am. I miss her…so much, and it still hurts a lot that she's gone. I'm doing a lot better than I was."  
  
"I hate to spout clichés but you'll always have her with you. People die but love doesn't."  
  
"Thanks." Willow smiled. "And thanks for not having any reaction whatsoever to the fact that I dated a girl."  
  
"I wouldn't have guessed, based on what I knew about you in high school, but people change. They grow. And, besides, my ex's name is Karl, so I'm not about to judge you."  
  
"Really? I was under the impression that you and Amy, pre-rat, were, you know, an item."  
  
"We did date for a while, but we didn't get along that well at the end. She wanted to dabble in the dark arts, I wanted to date men…"  
  
Willow laughed uncomfortably. "Well… I never realized Amy was into such dark magicks. I guess I should talk."  
  
"I'm sorry," Michael said abruptly. "I heard about your…power. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."  
  
"Not at all," Willow assured him. "I really messed up. I know that, but I can't change what happened."  
  
"Well, maybe you could but I wouldn't recommend it," he responded. "From what I've heard, the word 'can't' has no place in your vocabulary."  
  
"Right. More of a 'won't' or a 'shouldn't.' I have to learn from my mistakes."  
  
"That's a very mature attitude, Willow. You're miles ahead of Amy on that front." Michael just looked at Willow for a moment, studying her face, her neck, the shadows playing across her collarbone. "May I buy you a drink?"  
  
Willow's eyes widened in surprise but she quickly regained her composure. "Yes, thank you."  
  
Michael laughed easily. "Don't take this the wrong way but…do you come here often?"  
  
Willow giggled. "No. I still live in Sunnydale. I'm here to support the band."  
  
"What a coincidence, I am too."  
  
Willow furrowed her brow, trying to decide whether Michael was teasing her. He saw the expression and looked down into his cup shyly. "I'm serious," he said. "I…I've actually had a crush on Devon for a while…"  
  
"Really? He really doesn't strike me as your type. I mean, you've always been such a sweetie and he's such a…"  
  
"Dick?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Nice eyes though."  
  
"Great smile," Willow added. "He's not really my type either but he's hard not to notice."  
  
Michael nodded. "Help me take my mind off my hopeless crush on the straight musician?"  
  
"If you'll do the same for me."  
  
It was Michael's turn to furrow his brow, though he did it with a hint of a smile.  
  
"I don't think Oz wants to get back together with me," Willow explained.  
  
"Ah." Michael nodded. "And what do you want?"  
  
"I…I'm not sure," Willow confessed. "I thought I wanted us to be friends, which we were, except that every time we were together…"  
  
"You wanted more."  
  
Willow nodded, running her finger around the lip of her cup.   
  
*~*  
  
"Oz. Oz," Willow said firmly, resolve face in place. "I want to talk about why you don't think we should have a relationship."  
  
Oz sighed. "At first, I thought it was because things were different. That we weren't who we used to be. But you are the same girl I knew in high school. And that girl never loved me."  
  
"How can you say that?" Willow demanded shrilly.  
  
"How can you deny it?" Oz was calm.   
  
"I have changed. I don't know what kind of weird denial-verse you're living in, but I've changed so much I hardly recognize myself. The only thing that hasn't changed is how I feel about you. I want to be with you."  
  
"Until something better comes along."  
  
"Until the day I die," Willow said seriously. "It'll be different this time. No Xander. No Veruca. No Tara. Just you and me."  
  
Oz looked at her dubiously.  
  
"Unless you don't want this. Do you, Oz? Do you want to work it out? Do you even want to try?"  
  
No matter how many times she broke his heart, he always thought she was worth it.  
  
"Yes." Oz smiled at her faintly, the corners of his lips shifting a millimeter upwards, tiny crinkles of crow's feet forming around his eyes. Mostly, the smile was something in his eyes, his pupils dilating a fraction, the light seeming to reflect differently, and an overall softening of his expression. "I want this." His fingertips glided across the smooth skin of her cheek and sent tiny, delightful chills through her.   
  
"So…it would be okay to kiss you now?"  
  
"It's pretty much expected."  
  
He did pull back, just a little and slowly, as Willow kissed him. Oz wrapped his arms around her, pulling her with him as he leaned back against the van. Willow placed her palms against the van's side, pushing away from Oz and looking into his eyes with a mischievous smirk.  
  
"You know, all the time we were together, we never really took advantage of the fact that you drive a van."  
  
"We used it to transport a rocket launcher…"  
  
"You know that's not what I meant."  
  
"I didn't think your first time should be in the back of a van."  
  
"What about my second? Or third? Or…"  
  
"It just doesn't strike me as romantic."  
  
Willow sighed. "Romantic. I'm talking about sex in the back of your van, right here, right now. You're complaining that it's not romantic."  
  
"Not complaining. If it's all right with you…"  
  
Willow gave him an incredulous look. "It was my idea. But this conversation is kinda ruining the mood."  
  
"Besides, there's a bunch of stuff for the band in there right now," Oz admitted. Willow stared at him for a moment then burst out laughing.  
  
"The fates are against us."   
  
"Let's just go back to Sunnydale, I can drop off the stuff at the house, we can go somewhere."  
  
"For…that? Not much spontaneity. But talk about romantic," Willow teased.   
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of for a drink, for a bite to eat or even for coffee…"  
  
"I'm not getting any touch tonight, am I?" she complained, only half joking.  
  
"You never know," Oz replied coolly.  
  
"Tease."  
  
"I'll see you in Sunnydale."  
  
*~*  
  
Willow parked on the street in front of what Devon always referred to as "El Casa del Dingo." The bandmates were already unloading the van and Willow helped as best she could. She couldn't lift the heavier equipment but she held the door of the house open for the guys. Once everything was inside, she followed Oz back out to the van.   
  
"So…drink? Bite to eat? Coffee?" Willow asked.  
  
Oz didn't answer, simply opened the passenger side door for her. She stood on the driveway.   
  
"You're not going to tell me where we're going?"  
  
Oz circled to the driver's side and got in. "I'm being spontaneous."  
  
Willow smiled and shook her head, climbing into the van. While Oz drove, Willow listened to the radio and watched the light from the streetlamps play off his pale skin.   
  
After a while, she began to wiggle in her seat but Oz kept his eyes on the road. "The band sounded good, especially since it's been a while since you guys played together."  
  
"Thanks," Oz replied. "We've been practicing a lot since I got back."  
  
"Oz."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Pull over," Willow said.  
  
Oz glanced at her and did as he was told. He had just put it in park and cut the engine when Willow dropped something into his lap. Brow furrowed, he picked up the satiny fabric. His eyes widened as he realized what he was holding and he looked at Willow in surprise.  
  
"I've missed you," she said softly.   
  
"Spontaneous."  
  
"Combustion," Willow concluded.  
  
"Right. You know, spontaneous combustion doesn't happen. There has to be some sort of catalyst. Like tossing your undergarments in a guy's lap."  
  
"Just wanted to get your attention."  
  
"You've got it."  
  
"Undivided?"  
  
Oz nodded, realizing for the first time that she was dressed as she was for him.  
  
Willow smiled. "Good. Follow." She slipped into the back of the van. Oz unbuckled his seat belt and pursued. Willow kissed Oz passionately, drawing him into the darkness in the back of the van.  
  
She felt his hand on her naked thigh but he stopped when the hem of her skirt brushed against his wrist. Her heart was pounding as their lips parted. Willow's fingers were cold against his skin as she pulled his t-shirt up. The tips of her nails raised goosebumps as they scraped gently over his back. She tossed the shirt aside, draped one arm over his shoulder, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him closer; her other hand passed over his bare chest, the tip of one finger circling his nipple. He could feel her lips tremble against his ear but her voice was so soft, she seemed far away. "Keep going," she murmured, her breath warm and moist against the inner labyrinths of his ear.   
  
As Oz moved closer, her legs encircled him, her hand slipped down to unfasten his pants. When he kissed her, he could feel her teeth behind her lips. Breaking from the kiss, he stripped her of her shirt and fumbled for a moment with her bra. She reached behind herself to unhook it. "Let me," Oz objected. "I liked your hand where it was."  
  
Willow smiled and leaned into him so he could look over her shoulder and see what he was doing. Her hand crept back down between his legs. He unhooked the bra and slid it down her arms; she freed her wrists from the lingerie. Oz bowed his head, nuzzling her breasts. Her fingers gripped him as his lips closed over one of her nipples.   
  
"Oz?" she breathed.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"That's nice," she whispered, barely audible. Aloud, she added, "Protection?"  
  
He pulled back. "In the glovebox." He disentangled himself from her legs, holding up his pants with one hand. He stretched across the front seat while Willow occupied herself with untying his shoes. He drew back into the back, twisting to face Willow again. "Now. Where were we?"  
  
"I think I was about here…" Willow replied, crawling into his lap.   
  
*~*  
  
Willow collapsed on top of him, panting. She closed her eyes and rolled to the side. She felt his fingers in her hair and then his mouth pressed against hers. She sighed softly, smiling. "Any guy would be crazy not to want you," Michael murmured. Willow didn't reply. It had been three weeks since the night they met in LA. She had slept with Michael twice, not including what had just happened but she hadn't told him that she and Oz were together.   
  
Willow sighed, feeling guilty about misleading him.  
  
*~*  
  
She knew she should end it with one of them. She looked at Oz, sleeping beside her, and she thought about Michael. It was only a matter of time before one or both of them found out. If she let that happen, she would lose them both. Willow rolled onto her side, cuddling up next to Oz and trying to fall asleep. The harder she tried, the more awake she felt. The longer she stayed awake, the more she thought about Oz and Michael. By morning, she felt like crying but when she heard Oz stir, she pretended to be asleep.  



	4. Chapter 3

Part 3  
  
Willow hadn't truly fallen asleep until Oz got out of bed and it was nearly   
noon when she woke. She padded downstairs in her pajamas and was greeted by the   
sight of a stranger on the couch.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Willow demanded.  
  
The man stood up and offered his hand. "Shock."  
  
"Shock? What the?"  
  
"Peter, this is Willow. Willow, Peter. He thinks his nickname is Shock   
because Giles called him that," Oz explained. He glanced at Peter. "It was not   
an affectionate term."  
  
"What is he doing here?"  
  
"I'm here to help Oz to control the wolf."  
  
Willow looked nonplused. "How do you intend to do that?"  
  
"The same way I did back in merry old England. Aversion therapy."  
  
"Aversion therapy?" Willow stammered. "Are you talking about what I think   
you're talking about?"  
  
"It's simple behavior modification…"  
  
"It's barbaric," Willow objected, her voice growing in volume. "Not to   
mention archaic and dangerous. Oz, I can't believe you would agree to something   
like that!"  
  
"Because I have so many options," Oz replied calmly.  
  
"The meditation, the herbs, the beads…"  
  
"None of which prevented me from attacking Tara or wolfing out when I was   
captured by the Initiative."  
  
"Willow, I know you're looking out for his best interests," Peter said   
gently. "But this is Oz's choice."  
  
"It's a stupid choice. It's absurd."  
  
"The full moon is four days away. I'm not taking any chances," Oz stated   
firmly.  
  
Willow looked from Oz to Peter then back to Oz. "I don't believe this." She   
fled up the stairs.  
  
*~*  
  
Peter sat on the couch at the Dingoes' house. He had a tranquilizer gun,   
loaded, a tazer, two sets of chains and several small bottles containing various   
chemicals. Oz sat on the arm of the couch at the opposite end, armed with his   
guitar and a notebook. He planned to do some songwriting; it helped him stay   
calm.  
  
"Something bothering you?" Peter asked. "You've barely said two words to me   
since I got here."  
  
"Nothing to do with you."  
  
"The girl?"  
  
Oz didn't answer, studying the notebook. He set it aside and began to play.   
"It's just like the last time."  
  
*~*  
  
Willow drained her glass. Michael raised an eyebrow.   
  
"I didn't realize you were a drinker."  
  
"I'm not, normally. I'm worried about Oz. We're still friends you know."  
  
*~*  
  
"The part where I try to deny that she's already said goodbye. Time and time   
again I find that I'm lying quiet by her side, wondering what she's got to hide.   
This time…"  
*~*  
  
Michael nodded. "Does he know about…us?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "Not exactly."  
  
*~*  
  
"I guess I'm just a pastime. Something to keep her occupied, 'til she   
decides to let it slide. We both know she'll come back on the fly. And I'll   
pretend she's justified. And she'll pretend I've got my pride."  
  
*~*  
  
"He's going through a lot right now."  
  
"And knowing that you're in a relationship with someone else would put undue   
strain on him. I get it."  
  
"Michael…it's complicated."  
  
*~*  
  
"But I don't understand why every time I get ripped all up inside, then   
I…give it one more try. So let this be the last time. Let this well of mine run   
dry so I don't have to watch me cry."  
  
*~*  
  
"I like you, I like being with you. But I could never do anything to hurt   
Oz," Willow explained. "If that means hiding certain things from him…"  
  
"You're giving him false hope. If he thinks he can still be with you…"  
  
*~*  
  
"This time when she goes I'll be resigned. Let me shut the door behind her,   
let me put her from my mind, let my spirit grow unkind, let her be the one to   
find that I…give it one more try. Try it one more time. This will be the last   
time. The last time. Let this be the last time."  
  
*~*  
  
"I don't want to talk about Oz right now," Willow declared.  
  
"You're the one who brought him up," Michael objected.  
  
"Can't we just have a good time?"  
  
Michael hesitated before giving in. "Yeah." He kissed her. "Yeah, we can."  
  
*~*  
  
"Dude," a male voice slurred as Oz answered the phone.  
  
"Hey, Dev."  
  
"You're not gonna believe what I just saw at the Bronze."  
  
Oz sighed. When Devon was…well, it was usually best just to play along with   
Devon, regardless of the situation. "What is it?"  
  
"Okay, you remember that weird kid we went to high school with? I think his   
name was Mike or Matt or something? He was always wearing all black and smoking   
cloves and shit and hanging out with that weird chick Amy who disappeared…"  
  
"Michael, I remember him."  
  
"Yeah. He was just here man, totally macking on your girl Willow. And, get   
this, they left together."  
  
"Oz!" Peter said loudly.   
  
Oz turned and looked at Peter. His eyes were jet. Dark, coarse hair had   
sprouted on his hands, his nails grew long and sharp. Oz snarled, displaying a   
mouthful of fangs.  
  
On the phone, Devon was laughing drunkenly. Peter scrambled off the couch,   
reaching for the tranquilizer gun. Oz let the phone fall to the floor, dropping   
to all fours. His clothes tore as he transformed.  
  
At the Bronze, Devon dropped his cell phone into his cup, half-full of beer.   
Meanwhile, Peter's fingers slipped past the gun and he began to scream. The   
noise infuriated the werewolf that crouched a few feet away. It leapt on Peter,   
fangs flashing, knocking over a lamp as the young man struggled beneath its   
bulk. The moon would not be full until the following night but by its pallid   
illumination, Peter's blood appeared black. The screams stopped and the wolf   
licked its muzzle; its dark, reflective eyes appeared to glow faintly green. It   
threw its weight against the door once, twice – the hinges gave and the beast   
tasted freedom.  
  
It ran through the streets of Sunnydale, stretching its legs, pink tongue   
lolling from its bloody muzzle. The wind ruffled the wolf's thick fur and the   
wolf howled. It slowed to a trot, its glistening black nose twitching. The wolf   
approached the side of a house and dug at the dirt. Whining, it moved to a   
different part of the house and dug again. This time, its claws scratched   
against the glass of a basement window.  
  
Spike raised his head. Could've been a tree branch scraping the window. He   
listened closely. He heard a whine, like an eager animal, followed by more   
scratching. The vampire stood, his chains rattling. He heard a growl. Spike saw   
the wolf then. Its paws were pressed against the glass, its slavering mouth   
snapping as it tried to bite the window. Spike strained against his iron bonds.   
He knew Dawn was upstairs, watching television and studying trigonometry. He   
also knew that the beast outside was coming in.  
  
Cracks appeared in the glass. Whining excitedly, the wolf pressed in   
vigorously. Spike's chains screeched quietly under the strain. A link began to   
come undone. With a snarl, Spike vamped. The links of the chains popped open.   
Amid a shower of glass, the wolf tumbled into the basement. It stood and shook,   
sending tiny shards of glass and droplets of blood flying.  
  
The wolf lunged for the stairs and Spike pounced on it. They wrestled, both   
using claws and fangs. Spike gagged and spat out a mouthful of fur. He roared in   
pain as the wolf tore into his arm.  
  
Dawn heard the crashes and Spike's cry. Grabbing her books, she scurried   
upstairs to her bedroom and called Buffy's cell phone. "Spike's freaking out!"  
  
Blood stained the vampire's platinum hair carnelian. A runner of saliva   
struck Spike's cheek. Disgusted, he clawed the wolf's face. Blood sprayed across   
them. Spike felt the wolf's hind claws tearing at his abdomen. He shifted his   
weight, trying to avoid disembowelment and the back of his head struck the   
bottom step with enough force to make the vampire see stars. The wolf bolted up   
the stairs. It raced through the living room and threw itself through the front   
window of the Summers' house.  
  
*~*  
  
The slayer took in the broken window and overturned furniture. Dawn crept   
down the stairs to meet her. "Are you okay?"  
  
Dawn nodded. "Have you checked the basement yet?"  
  
"No, that's probably where the most damage is," Buffy replied. "Spike had   
better be prepared to pay for that window and anything that's broken   
downstairs."  
  
Spike was blood smeared and naked to the waist, kneeling on the floor in the   
basement, gathering shards of glass in the tattered remains of his shirt.  
  
"Mind your step, the floor's wet there," he said as Buffy reached the bottom   
of the stairs.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I was just cleaning up a bit."  
  
Buffy looked suspiciously at the broken chains hanging off his wrists.  
  
"What happened here?"  
  
"Werewolf," Spike answered. "Came in the window. Had a bit of a tussle, then   
it ran off upstairs."  
  
"You didn't go after it?"  
  
"It went out the front window. Figured I should stick around in case   
anything else decided to make itself unwelcome."  
  
Buffy nodded. "A werewolf?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'd better call Oz."  
  
"You don't think maybe that was Oz?"  
  
*~*  
  
The soap stung at Oz's cuts as he showered. Hot water pounded against his   
battered hide but Oz was worlds away, planning his next move. Willow hadn't been   
home but he could come back for her. In the meantime, he had a flight to catch.  
  
*~*  
  
No one was answering the phone at 'El Casa del Dingo' so Buffy decided to go   
over there to check it out. Both Spike and Xander offered to accompany her.   
Buffy accepted on Spike's count and left Xander to protect Dawn.  
  
A young vampire, drawn by the scent of blood, was lurking outside the house   
that Devon and his bandmates shared. Buffy quickly dispatched him and looked at   
the house.  
  
"Well…I guess the door's… open," she observed. The front door lay on the   
lawn, the wood and hinges damaged. Buffy entered and turned to Spike who was   
examining the fallen door. "Coming in?"  
  
"Can't," he replied. "The owner or one of the inhabitants has to invite me."  
  
Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. "Should've brought Xander."  
  
Spike snorted derisively. The slayer ignored him and went in alone. She   
walked slowly into the living room, pausing to right an overturned lamp. Buffy   
also set an easy chair back in its proper position, though she could do nothing   
about the shredded upholstery. As she stepped past the chair, she saw the body.  
  
Peter was virtually unrecognizable, even to someone who'd known him for more   
than a few days. His face was ruined, the werewolf's powerful jaws having   
shattered the jaw and cheekbone on one side. Either the pressure or the fangs   
had caused one of the eyes to burst, whitish fluid was congealing on his bloody   
cheek. Buffy was nauseated; she could only hope that most of the damage had been   
done after Peter's throat had been torn out. She was relieved to leave the   
corpse behind, searching the rest of the house.   
  
Oz was not there. Buffy noted that most of his belongings were also missing.   
She felt a chill. Oz hadn't just wolfed and ran. At some point, he had stopped   
to pack. The slayer left the house swiftly, pausing only once, outside, to   
observe that the van was nowhere to be seen.  
  
*~*  
  
A CD spun in the portable player. Inches away, fingers – the nails polished   
black and bitten down to the quick – drummed on the plane's armrest. Oz's eyes   
were closed, his head nodded slightly to the music's throbbing beat. 


	5. Chapter 4

Part 4  
  
"We have a serious werewolf problem," Buffy declared. "Peter's dead, Oz is MIA…we need a plan."  
  
"Find Oz before he kills again," Spike suggested.  
  
"We don't know that Oz did this," Dawn objected.  
  
"Way to overlook the evidence," Xander remarked. He didn't want to believe it either.  
  
"No," Anya insisted. "Maybe Oz is just out looking for the bad werewolf."  
  
"Which is why he packed his bags and didn't bother to contact any of us," Xander retorted.  
  
"Can we focus?" Buffy interjected. "How do we find him?"  
  
"Oh!" Anya exclaimed. "I have an idea. Let's report his van stolen."  
  
The others stared at her.  
  
"Because then the police will look for it…"  
  
"It's a start," Buffy said. "If we can get a hold of Devon, maybe he can tell us where Oz might go."  
  
"Should we discuss what we're going to do when we find him?" Xander asked.  
  
"Stab him through the chest?" Anya recommended.  
  
"Okay, you know what? Drop it," Buffy snapped.  
  
"But when…" Anya began.  
  
"Drop it," Buffy repeated.  
  
"I just…"  
  
"Drop it!" This time Spike and Dawn joined Buffy in the statement.  
  
Anya looked to Xander for support but he avoided her gaze. She sighed. "Fine. What are we going to do?"  
  
"We'll figure that out when the time comes," Buffy answered. "Okay, Xander, I want you to talk to Devon. Spike, just…drive around town and look for signs of werewolf. Anya, you do the same. Dawn, call the cops, report the van stolen then stay here and field phone calls. Call here to check in. I'm going to start at the house and see if I can figure out anything useful."  
  
"You mean Chez Dingo?" Anya said.  
  
"It's Casa," Dawn corrected.  
  
"Everybody back before dawn," Buffy instructed.  
  
*~*  
  
"Willow!" Dawn bounced up from the couch to greet her. "Thank God you're here. I thought maybe you got eaten. Where've you been?"  
  
"I was out with a friend," Willow answered evasively. "I just wanted to grab a shower before…did you say eaten?"  
  
"Yeah," Dawn nodded.  
  
Willow sighed. "Okay, what's the bad this time?"  
  
"You haven't heard?" Dawn asked incredulously.  
  
"If I'd heard, would I ask?"  
  
"Oh my god! I actually get to tell someone something!"  
"Dawn," Willow said sharply. "Just…"  
  
"It's Oz!" Dawn exclaimed, a bit too excitedly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's Oz! The bad. He ate Peter. And he broke into the house. The whole gang's out looking for him Well, except us. Hey! Where're you…"  
  
The door slammed shut.  
  
"Going…" Dawn finished.  
  
Willow headed to the Dingoes' house. She was sure Buffy had already been there but she was equally sure she could find something the slayer had overlooked.   
  
Peter's body still lay on the floor, surrounded by a pool of his slowly drying blood. Willow stared at the ruined face, the gaping wound in his throat, his pale, limp hand, missing two fingers. "Oh, God, Oz," she breathed hoarsely. "What did you do?"  
  
Her answer was in the lifeless stare of Peter's remaining eye. Sickened, she began to trek upstairs when she remembered that she hadn't seen Oz's van in the driveway. Trying not to look at Peter, Willow reached for the phone.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Willow nearly jumped out of her skin. "Buffy. What're you doing here?"  
  
"Investigating," the slayer replied. She glanced at Peter. "Oz's stuff is gone, he might be headed out of town."  
  
"He could've gone to LA," Willow said. "He's got some family in LA."  
  
"We should try to get a hold of them."  
  
The witch nodded numbly. Oz's cousin Jordy lived in LA with his parents.   
  
*~*  
  
"I talked to him earlier," Devon slurred. "Gotta watch the little guy's back."  
  
'Watch' came out 'wash' and for a moment, Xander was stuck with a very disconcerting mental image.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked.  
  
"I saw that li'l red-head, Willow, getting cozy with some guy at the Bronze. Cheating bitch. They're all the same, you know. Women."  
  
"You told him?"   
  
Devon nodded. "Called him up and gave him the straight shit. I probably should've found a better way to break the news. Say it with flowers or some shit. Break the news…that's a weird esspresshun," Devon observed. "It's not like 'bam, crack…oops broken news' … I wrecked my fucking phone too," he mentioned.   
  
"Listen, do you have any idea where Oz would've gone?" Xander asked, speaking loudly and deliberately.  
  
"I know if it was me, I'd've gone and told that bitch a thing or two."  
  
Xander's eyes widened. "Thanks Devon, we'll have to do this again sometime. See you round, okay?" He darted away and called the Summers house.   
  
"Has Willow been by?"  
  
"Yeah. I told her what was going on and she took off," Dawn complained. "But she's back now. I was just getting ready to call you, actually. Everybody is to report back to base."  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
*~*  
  
"Okay," Dawn began once everyone was gathered in the living room. "The police called. They found the van."  
  
"Where?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Did they find Oz?" Willow said simultaneously.  
  
"No, and in the parking lot at the airport."  
  
"The airport? He could be anywhere!" Xander exclaimed.  
  
"We could ask the people who work there, I bet he was acting suspicious," Dawn suggested.  
  
"Plus, he's, like, five feet tall. That's a pretty distinguishing characteristic for a guy," Anya said helpfully.  
  
"So is being eight feet tall and covered in fur," Spike muttered.  
  
"I don't think he could drive a van like that," Anya retorted.  
  
"Yeah, well the way you described him, I'm surprised his little feet could reach the pedals," Spike said snidely.  
  
"None of this is helpful," Buffy interrupted. "Knock it off."  
  
"Oh!" Dawn said brightly. "He can't leave the country without a passport."  
  
"He has a passport," Willow replied.  
  
"Oh." Dawns face fell. "So, he really could be anywhere."  
  
"Not really," Willow said, beginning to perk up. "The Sunnydale airport is tiny. I'll be only half a dozen flights or so have left tonight. What time did he leave here?"  
  
"Early," Spike answered, "Around 11:30 or so."  
  
"That sounds right," Dawn added.  
  
"If he was wolfed when he broke in, he probably went back for his stuff after that. It'd take a couple minutes to get back to the Dingoes' house, a few more to pack, plus the drive to the airport. He probably couldn't have gotten on a plane before midnight."  
  
"Maybe even later," Buffy said, hopes rising. "And there are next to no flights leaving that late."  
  
*~*  
  
They were talking to an airline employee whose name-tag said 'Candice.'  
  
"We get a lot of travelers this time of year," she explained patiently.  
  
"This would've been around midnight, maybe after."  
  
"A young man, early twenties, about this tall," Willow gestured. "Blond, spiky hair, green eyes, real pale…"  
  
"Kind of a cute boy with a guitar case?" Candice asked.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"I remember. Checked the guitar all the way through to London-Heathrow for him. We don't get many internationals out of here, most folks just drive to LAX. But of course, the parking around there is much more expensive."  
  
"London? You're sure about that?" Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah…made a joke about him knowing the language," Candice said fondly.  
  
"You're a life saver," Willow told her.   
  
"Have a nice New Year!" Candice called after them as they left.  
  
*~*  
  
The holidays were over, and considering how much he'd drunk the previous night, Rupert Giles felt all right. His head hurt but not too much; he felt sluggish, as though he'd slept too much or not enough, and for the first time in years, he woke up craving a cigarette. Giles was greeted by the smell of smoke as he stumbled out of bed and determined that it must have been that familiar odor which had put the nicotine craving into his mind.  
  
A young, blond man was sitting in Giles's breakfast nook just exactly as though he belonged there. There were three items on the table in front of him, a cup of coffee, an ashtray and a pack of Dorals. "Coffin nail?" he offered, sliding the pack across the table as Giles sat down.  
  
"I quit," Giles said weakly. Even as he spoke, his slender fingers pulled a cigarette from the pack. His hand trembled as he raised it to his lips. A silver lighter seemed to materialize in the young man's hand. Giles accepted the lighter, taking a moment to examine it. It was etched with a mottled orb he assumed was meant to represent the moon. The tiny flame wavered a bit as Giles lit his cigarette and coughed harshly. It had been a long time.  
  
A moment passed in silence before Giles rose to get a cup of coffee. As he crossed the small kitchen, he found himself wishing he'd gotten dressed before leaving the bedroom. "I wasn't expecting anyone," Giles explained, gesturing apologetically to his rumpled pajamas.  
  
"I know." Giles's visitor smiled wryly and sipped his coffee. "I wasn't expecting to be here."  
  
Giles tore the calendar off the wall and dropped it in the trash on his way back to the table. "Happy New Year, Oz."  
  
"Happy New Year."  
  
Neither man spoke again until they had both finished their coffee. When Oz stood up to get a second cup, Giles finally broke the silence. "Can we get to why you're here?"  
  
"Home for the holidays, right?" Oz replied nonchalantly, refilling both mugs.   
  
"The holidays are more or less over. Besides, I thought Sunnydale was your home."  
  
"This place has one thing Sunnydale doesn't," Oz said.  
  
"What's that?" Giles asked, taking his coffee from Oz and taking a sip.  
  
Oz looked at him over the rim of the coffee mug, steam swirling up in front of his eyes. "You."  
  
Giles coughed and sputtered, nearly choking.  
  
"It's the truth," Oz said, sounding mildly offended. "I'm here because of you."  
  
"How are things with Willow?" Giles asked, avoiding Oz's remarks.  
  
Oz didn't have a chance to answer before the phone rang.   
  
"Just a moment," Giles said, excusing himself. "Rupert Giles." He turned away from the table. "Buffy? Calm down. Oz? He's right here… Yes. Did you want to speak to him?" Giles frowned. "Why?" He glanced over his shoulder. Oz was gone.  
  
*~*  
  
Giles walked swiftly down the street, a shotgun concealed beneath a coat that nearly skimmed the ground. He glanced anxiously behind him, like a man being followed. Giles whipped his head back around to the front and froze. Oz stood a couple meters in front of him.   
  
"Sorry I took off earlier," Oz said coolly. "Places to go. But now here I am and we can finish our little talk."  
  
"I don't think you're here to talk."  
  
Oz smirked. It could have been the light, but his eyes looked black as pitch. "You're right. That's not why I'm here at all."  
  
Giles took a step back, prepared to raise the shotgun at any moment. "Well then?"  
  
"Give us a kiss," Oz said, lunging towards Giles. It was not the darkness of the street, his eyes were black. As he surged towards Giles, his face elongated, his jaws became the slender muzzle of an animal, his teeth grew into fangs. Giles leveled the shotgun, aiming into the gaping maw now so close he could feel the creature's hot breath upon him. He pulled the trigger. 


	6. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
Something wet, sticky and warm but cooling quickly, decorated the concrete. Dark fluid was drying slowly and thickening all the while, clotting, as it seeped into the porous surface of the cement. Jagged shards of what looked almost like ruined china were scattered throughout the mess. Clusters of fine hair clumped together, matted to the ground. The harsh fluorescence of the street light gave the scene a surreal feel.  
  
Giles fell to his knees, the shotgun clattering against the ground. "No," he whispered. "Oz?"  
  
Oz lay in the center of the unpleasant picture. His skin was as pale as the face of the full moon overhead. His face was untouched. It was only the back of his skull that lay strewn on the street. The sound of sirens brought Giles from his state of shock. He staggered to his feet and fled.  
  
*~*  
  
The days passed slowly as he waited for the police to knock on his door. Surely they had to know that he had killed the boy. No policemen ever came to the house that Giles and Oz had shared. His body was released to his family for burial and shipped back to Sunnydale.   
  
*~*  
  
"The funeral's today," Xander said softly.  
  
"I know," Buffy replied. "I'm going. He'd've come to mine, if he'd been in town."  
  
"I think maybe I should stay with Willow."  
  
Buffy nodded.   
  
*~*  
  
_'Come here. Pretty please. Can you tell me where I am? You won't you say something? I need to get my bearings. I'm lost, and the shadows keep on changing.'_  
  
Willow waited until after sunset to head to the grave. She had dreamt of nothing but Oz since he had left and she had not seen Michael again. The ground looked disturbed. As Willow stared at it, she realized that she had seen many graves that looked like this one. All of them empty.  
  
_'And I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, and actions I have hated.  
I'm haunted by the lies that wove the web inside my haunted head.'_  
  
Willow slunk through the cemetery, straining to hear something, her eyes seeking out any flash of movement.  
  
_'Don't cry, there's always a way.   
Here in November in this house of leaves, we'll pray.  
Please, I know it's hard to believe,   
to see a perfect forest through so many splintered trees.'_  
  
Oz crept up behind Willow, carrying a shovel left behind by one of the cemetery crew. He swung hard at the back of her head.  
  
_'You and me and these shadows keep on changing.   
And I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, and actions I have hated.'_  
  
Oz dragged Willow back to his grave and began clearing away the earth.  
_  
'I'm haunted by the promises I made, and others I have broken.   
I'm haunted by the lies that wove the web inside my haunted head.'_  
  
Refilling the hole was quicker than digging it had been, but not by much. He moved another shovel-full of dirt and, under his breath, sang the song that had been haunting him since the plane trip to England. "Hallways... always…"  
  
Oz sank the tool into the earth again. "I'll always want you," he murmured. "I'll always need you."   
  
He patted the last of the dirt down with the flat surface of the shovel.  
  
"I'll always love you."  
  
He tossed the shovel aside and sighed contentedly. Oz brushed the dirt off his hands and regarded the temporary marker they'd erected over his grave. He strolled out of the cemetery smiling.  
  
"And I will always miss you."  
  
fin  
  



End file.
